


'cause [ ] makes the heart grow fonder

by thymetodance



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band)
Genre: Killjoys AU, Light Angst i guess??, M/M, definitely an Implication though., implied weekman but not explicitly stated or established, just.. two dudes vibing. having a moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24286969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymetodance/pseuds/thymetodance
Summary: two old friends and a quiet moment in the rain.
Relationships: Ryan Seaman & Dallon Weekes, Ryan Seaman/Dallon Weekes
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	'cause [ ] makes the heart grow fonder

**Author's Note:**

> hello.......... here is a little thing i wrote about the killjoy idkhow au i have not been able to stop thinking about for weeks now.................. u can see more of them on my instagram [@kccyanide](https://www.instagram.com/kccyanide/) if you'd like!!
> 
> basic things: dallon's name is radio cain, ryan's is mr. sinister, they're a duo that tends to lay low and keep to themselves for the most part. both grew up in battery city and have something of a history back there. maybe i'll get more into that one of these days but who's to say!!!!

“Morning,” Sinister calls as Cain trudges into the room. Cain mumbles something that might be _good morning_ back. “It’s raining. Pretty heavy.”  
  
Cain turns his head to look out the window with evident struggle, then nods. Sinister swears he can hear the bones in his neck crack with the motion. “Sure is.”

Sinister pops open a can of Power Pup and slides it across the counter towards Cain when he sits down; Cain accepts it with a quiet _thanks_ that’s nearly inaudible under the steady drumming of rain against the roof. “Sleep okay?”

The heavy sigh Cain lets out is almost comical. “Not the worst night I’ve ever had, but certainly not the best.” He shovels a bite of Power Pup into his mouth and grimaces. Sinister winces sympathetically. If it hadn’t already been long established that Cain hates coffee, Sinister would offer some of his to wash it down, shitty as it is. Even low-grade, expired instant coffee tastes better than Power Pup. “Ugh, we need to pick up something even slightly more edible than this at Tommy’s next time.”

Sinister chuckles in agreement. “I have some carbons saved up, maybe we can get, like, some canned peaches or something.” Cain cocks an eyebrow at that. 

“ _Peaches?_ How much do you have stashed away?” 

“Okay, probably not that much,” Sinister concedes. “But I do got these babies.” He makes a show of flexing and palming his fist with an expression he hopes is approximately threatening. Judging from the way the corners of Cain’s mouth twists up in a barely-repressed smile, it’s not. 

“You’re gonna heckle Tommy Chow Mein into an impossible deal with those guns?” Cain deadpans. And okay, yeah, maybe Sinister’s been slacking on the workout routine, but still, _hey_. The indignation must show on his face, because Cain laughs, soft and teasing. “No, no, I believe it, Sin. Don’t let me get you down.”

Sinister sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re a jerk.” 

“And you’re stuck with me,” Cain sing-songs back. “C’mon,” he says, then, shoving the rest of his Power Pup away and standing up abruptly. “You down for a soak? It’s not like it rains everyday out here.”

“I feel like you’re implying that I stink and I need a shower or something,” Sinister grumbles, but he’s already hopping off his stool to follow Cain out into the warm downpour. 

  
  
  


The scramble onto the roof of the run-down donut shop they call home is always precarious—exponentially more so in the humid slick of rain—but always worth it. Sinister’s watched countless irradiated sunsets tucked into the curve of the giant broken rooftop donut, Cain perched precariously next to him. Today, there’s not any particularly compelling view, the sky blanketed with dark gray storm clouds as far as the eye can see. But there’s something strangely tranquil about it, about the dampness seeping through Sinister’s clothes, the wet weight of his hair against his forehead as it starts to drip into his eyes. It really doesn’t rain much in the desert.

Cain stretches his long legs out over the edge of the roof, leans back on his forearms and tilts his face up to the sky. Sinister watches him for a few seconds—watches the flutter of his lashes as his eyes close against the raindrops, the slight part of his lips, the unworried openness of it all—then looks away, feeling like he’s intruding somehow. 

Lightning flashes in the far, far, distance, somewhere out in Zone 6, or beyond it, even. It takes a long few moments for the rumble of thunder to roll over them. 

“What do you think is out there?” Sinister asks, the words out of his mouth before he’s even thought them. Cain twists around to look at him, his gaze a little questioning. “Outside the zones, I mean.”  
  
“Oh.” Cain sits back up, folding his hands over one another as he thinks. Rainwater travels in steady streams down his face and neck; his vibrant yellow shirt has turned dark orange with it. “Honestly? Not much of anything, probably. Or at least, not anything for _miles_. Way further than we could ever go without getting stranded.” He seems to consider something, then, “But I bet you there’s other places way out there somewhere, with other people, living totally different lives from us.”

“Bet they don’t have to eat Power Pup for breakfast,” Sinister quips, and is rewarded with a full, bright laugh. 

“Lucky them.” 

Sinister casts a sideways glance in the direction of Battery City, even if he can’t see it from here. “No BL/ind assholes after them, either.” 

Cain’s silence lingers just a little too long at that. Sinister’s just started cursing inwardly at himself— _don’t bring up BL/ind, you know his history with them, why would you bring it up, you stupid motherf_ —when he speaks again. “Nice to think there’s still people who don’t have those guys breathing down their necks every moment, yeah.”

“Cain—” Sinister starts, but cuts himself off. Cain doesn’t look at him, just touches a hand absently to the collar of his shirt, like he’s adjusting a tie that he hasn’t worn in years. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine.” Cain flashes him a smile that’s almost imperceptibly strained at the edges. “I mean, you’re not wrong. And it _is_ a nice thought.”

Sinister doesn’t think too hard on what he does next when he slides himself off the donut to settle next to Cain, reaches over and grasps his hand. Cain jumps in surprise a little bit, but doesn’t pull away. 

“You know, I’m kinda glad BL/ind is the shitfest it is,” Sinister says, voice pitched low like he’s sharing a secret, which, maybe he is.

“Yeah?” Cain responds incredulously.

“Yeah.” Sinister squeezes Cain’s hand tight, meets his gaze and fights down the sudden wave of _something_ he can’t and doesn’t want to examine right now that rises in his chest at the way Cain’s looking at him—earnest, focused, vulnerable, dark hair plastered to his forehead, water caught in his lashes. “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

The corners of Cain’s mouth twist up at that, in that distinct way they do. “Shut up, dude,” he mutters, but he knocks their shoulders together anyways, the melancholy reminiscent look in his expression fading to be replaced with a fondness that makes Sinister’s rib cage tighten around his heart. “What even—shut up.”

“I’m just saying. I like having met you. I like being with you.” Sinister leans into him, head on his shoulder, blinks up at him in the rain. “Wouldn’t have happened if, you know. They hadn’t…” He waves a hand in a vague motion that’s supposed to mean _put us through all the shit they did_ —whether Cain gets the message or not doesn’t matter so much as the warmth in his eyes when he laughs quietly and murmurs agreement. 

“I guess so.” 

They sit like that for a while, then, soaking wet and totally fine with it, leaned into each other like they could become one person if they tried hard enough.

Then, finally: “Thanks,” Cain says softly, “for sticking with me through everything.”

Sinister grins at him. “Always.” 

Cain shifts his weight, turns his head to press his forehead into Sinister’s sopping turquoise hair. “I love you, man,” he says on a sigh.

In that moment, Sinister thinks a million things at once, wants to say a thousand things in response. But there’s a time and a place for everything, and right here, right now—it’s quiet, it’s their familiar rooftop, it’s the patter of rain against their skin. Simple things.

So Sinister just smiles, breathes in, and says, “Love you too,” and leaves it at that.


End file.
